


as permanent as stone cathedrals

by pdameron



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-SPECTRE, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdameron/pseuds/pdameron
Summary: Q has been in love for two years, six months, and twelve days when James Bond walks away, leaving him with a bleeding head and a broken heart on a dark and noisy London bridge.





	as permanent as stone cathedrals

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Как храмы каменные, неизменно](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776845) by [hirasava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirasava/pseuds/hirasava)



> this is my first foray into the bond fandom, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> a huge thanks to [gammadolphin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gammadolphin/pseuds/gammadolphin) for beta-ing, yet again
> 
> the title is from a really fuckin sad kerrigan & lowdermilk song

Q has been in love for two years, six months, and twelve days when James Bond walks away, leaving him with a bleeding head and a broken heart on a dark and noisy London bridge.

He is still in love, and still hurting, two weeks later, when Bond returns, grinding Q’s fierce, sudden hope into dust when it becomes clear that he’s more interested in the Aston Martin than how terribly Q’s missed him, how frightfully worried he’s been.

The car is, of course, finished: Q’s needed something to distract himself from this all-consuming heartbreak, and his interns had apparently nothing better to do during the whole Spectre fiasco than tinker with the projects they’d yet to finish.

He shouldn’t give the car to Bond, he knows it, and _Bond_ knows it, but he’s giving Q that little smile, and he _needs_ this, he says, and his eyes are just so blue, and he’s been through so much, and doesn’t he deserve this?

Bond’s always had him wrapped around his little finger, and he’s aware of this. He knows before he even asks, before he even walks into Q Branch, that Q will give him what he wants.

 Because that’s what always seems to happen, Q thinks bitterly. Bond takes, and takes, and takes, until there’s nothing left for Q to give.

 

 

****

 

 

Q falls in love, he is fairly certain, on a Monday morning, two months after Skyfall, after M is dead and buried, after Mallory has taken the helm and Bond has finally returned. He’s seen Bond only a handful of times since that night: once at the funeral; then briefly as Bond came to Q Branch to thank Q for his help; and then in passing, one of them leaving Mallory’s office as the other entered.

After their first meeting, Q had thought he'd gotten the general feel of Bond: a gruff, bitter man, charming when he wants to be but largely solitary.

The fact that this charm has yet to be turned on him does not mean that Q is...unaffected by the man’s handsome looks and astonishing blue eyes.

Despite his initial dismissal of his abilities, Q finds that he rather likes Bond. He’s quick-witted, and dry, and perceptive, and after Skyfall, when Q was stood next to Bond and the burning remains of his childhood home, the raw grief he’d seen in the other man’s eyes had changed his first impression quite sharply. When Tanner had asked if he was alright, the vulnerability had instantly vanished behind a cool facade, and with a not-quite smirk Bond had replied: “Aren’t I always?” and vanished into the night.

It had made Q’s heart ache, to watch Bond, this man he hardly knew, hide his pain and brush it off, all for the sake of appearances.

The point is, Bond is much more than a womanizing hired gun, and Q is rather ashamed at the assumptions he’d made when he first met the man.

So when Bond walks into Q Branch (they’ve moved to a new building, though Q has kept the layouts mostly the same), Q is genuinely happy to see him, giving him a small smile in greeting as he finishes signing the latest stack of papers M has sent down.

“Double-oh seven. What can I do for you?”

Bond shrugs. “I’m not cleared for active duty yet. M’s sent me down for weapons testing.”

At this, Q grins excitedly. “Excellent!” He’s already heading toward the stairs that will take him down to the lower levels, R&D, Bond following at his heels. “We’ve been working on some new prototypes, and it’ll be nice to have an agent who actually knows what they’re talking about to give some feedback,” He pauses, turning back to Bond almost sheepishly as they walk into R&D. “...Which isn’t to say that the other field agents are inept - I mean - I only meant that you have more experience - ”

Bond just smirks at him smugly, apparently pleased that Q thinks him more qualified than some of the other double-ohs and field agents. He starts to ask a question, but cuts himself off rather abruptly. Q turns away from the lighter/grenade on his desk to Bond, wondering what’s distracted him so thoroughly and  - Ah.

Bond’s noticed the Aston Martin’s steering wheel, resting on a shelf on the wall.

“Oh, that? I haven’t had time to start reconstruction yet, sorry. It will take quite a while, you see, given how old the car was and…” He trails off when Bond whirls around to look at him, his eyes wide and surprised.

“You’re going to restore it?” Bond asks disbelievingly.

Q feels himself flush. “Yes, well… I rather like cars, you know, being an engineer and all. It’ll be a fun project, when I can spare the time.”

What he doesn’t say is that the look in Bond’s eyes back at Skyfall, when he’d looked between the house and the car and M’s body being carried away, had haunted him for weeks. What he doesn’t say is that he is still perhaps too kind to be working in espionage, as all he’d wanted was to give Bond back something he’d lost. He can’t bring M back from the dead, and he can’t rebuild Skyfall, but he’d built his first car when he was sixteen. This, he can do for Bond.

Bond walks over and picks up the steering wheel, looking down at it almost reverently. When he looks back at Q, he beams, and laughs brightly, delightedly.

Q’s never seen him smile, not really, and he’s certainly never heard him laugh, and it is at this moment that Q thinks, Oh.

Oh no.

He’s in trouble.

 

 

 

****

 

 

Q has been in love for one year, three months and four days when he is kidnapped for the first time.

It is not the most pleasant of experiences.

It’s not even his fault, he will think to himself as he’s tied to a chair in a dark basement. He’s always been so very careful, always kept a taser and mace on him when he uses the tube, and of course, the one night he decides he’s too tired to sit on a train and remember when to get off, the one night he decides to use the MI6 car service reserved for branch heads and management, he gets kidnapped.

So really, it’s Six’s fault, for not properly vetting their drivers.

It takes all of two minutes for Q, even in his exhaustion-addled state, to realize that they’re going in entirely the wrong direction, and even less time to realize that there’s someone in the passenger seat, which is decidedly not normal. So when the car pulls up to a red light, Q makes a break for it, makes it all of ten steps before there are strong arms wrapped around his middle and practically carrying him back to the car. He does manage to grab his mace and spray his attacker right in the face, but the angry, pained yells are apparently not enough to indicate to any passersby that _something is not right, help me_ and not enough to deter the man from throwing Q back into the car, this time in the boot.

He’s going to pay for that stunt, he knows, but he thinks vindictively that it was worth it.

Q has, of course, prepared for this eventuality, so he reaches up and takes off his glasses, pushing one of the hinges as far outwards as he can manage, until he hears a small clicking noise. His tracker will have been activated, now, and with luck someone will be in Q Branch to notice the extremely loud alarm he’s set up in his office.

He knows he should be paying attention to the different turns the car makes, and listening for distinguishing sounds, but he hit his head quite hard when he’d been thrown in the boot, and everything is a little blurry, even when he puts his glasses back on.

The car stops and the trunk is opened and Q has enough time to grin meanly at the sight of his kidnapper’s very red, very puffy eyes before his head is slammed against the bottom of the boot and everything goes black.

Which leads him to the chair and the basement, and the many, many new bruises and cuts he’s acquired since he’s refused to give the men (five of them, now that they’ve apparently made it to their hideout) access to MI6 servers. He doesn’t actually know what they want, because he wasn’t really listening when the leader, Pepper Spray Man, told him their grand plan, but he gets the gist of it, and he’s not going to give them anything.

There’s blood running down his face, probably because Pepper Spray Man is wearing rings and he can feel the cuts above his brow bone.  Oddly enough, it’s only when Henchman #3 takes out a knife and stabs him in the thigh that the reality of his situation begins to sink in.

Q might die here, at the hands of some two-bit criminals that he’s never heard of. It’s not as boring as having a brain aneurysm at his desk, he supposes, but it’s still not a particularly grand death.

At least there are no crocodiles involved. He’s read some of Bond’s old mission reports, he knows it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.

Oh.

Bond.

He’s never going to see him again. Q feels something tighten in his throat at this thought, and wills it away. Luckily, the Henchman #3 stabs him again, this time in the other leg, and provides ample distraction from this sudden sadness.

Q’s trying not to scream from the pain, and pondering his own mortality, when there’s a loud bang and shouting above them.

More than five, then. 

The room is thrown into darkness, and all Q can hear is the muffled sound of a silencer and the thuds of fists hitting flesh. He has the presence of mind to shout out that the leader is the man standing closest to him, but beyond that he has no idea what’s happening.

When the lights come back on, there are five dead men on the ground, and Pepper Spray Man has two bullets in his kneecaps and he’s howling in agony. Q is oddly proud that he’s apparently tougher than the possible terrorist when it comes to pain tolerance.

 Someone kicks the man in the head, and the screaming stops as he falls unconscious. He looks up, and attached to the foot is none other than James Bond himself, looking murderous.

Bond kneels down to cut the rope from his ankles, then his wrists, and Q is so surprised to see him that he completely misses the questions he’s being asked.

“Aren’t you in Barcelona?”

Bond just gives him a look. “Obviously not,” he says, before lifting his hand into Q’s field of vision. “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

When Q tells him six, he grimaces, and turns to the ringleader to kick him a few extra times. When he looks back at Q, his expression is thunderous, and he can feel himself shrink inward a bit.

“I _am_ sorry. I was being careful, honestly.”

Bond seems confused for only a moment, before he seems to realize what Q is getting at. “Q, I’m not angry with you,” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and perhaps it is, if one isn’t concussed. The agent walks over and scoops him up into a bridal carry, mindful of the wounds on his upper thighs.

“Oh, Mr. Bond,” Q sighs dreamily, wrapping his arms around Bond’s neck for balance as he impersonates one of the agent’s many women. “At least buy me a drink first! I’m not that kind of girl!” 

Q says this because he’s hilarious and possibly suffering from blood loss, but also because he’s still a little terrified, and he’s hoping it will distract from the fact that he’s started shaking rather badly and he’s clutching just a hair too tight onto the other man.

The look Bond gives him is odd, not one he’s seen before. He looks surprised, then concerned, then amused and exasperated and _something else_ he can’t quite parse, before his expression just morphs into something terribly fond. It makes Q’s chest feel all warm. The agent hikes him up a bit higher, wrapping his one arm more securely around Q’s back. “You’re alright, Q. I’ve got you." 

And he does have Q. He’s had him long before today, and he’ll have him long after.

 

 

****

 

 

Q is not in love when Bond walks back into MI6, smug and confident and acting for all the world as if he hasn’t been gone for over six months. He’s not in love, he tells Eve. He is not in love, he tells himself. 

Bond walks into Q Branch and Q tries to ignore the way his heart seems to beat out of his chest at the sight of the other man, the way his throat seems to tighten when Bond finally looks his way.

He tries to ignore it, because he’s not in love with Bond anymore.

He’s not.

Q knows, as they exchange pleasantries, that he is perhaps not as welcoming as he should be, that his professionalism borders on brusqueness, but in all fairness he is still rather frustrated with Bond, and with himself for letting Bond manipulate his feelings so easily. He’s not looking at the other man, instead staring unseeing at his laptop, pretending to read something or other, because he’s not sure if he’s ready to fall into those icy blue eyes again. Because, quite honestly, he doesn’t know what he’ll find in them. In his periphery, Bond’s body language has gotten tense, as if he’s unsure of his footing now that Q has not welcomed him back with open arms. Good. It serves him right, to think he can just waltz back in and act like nothing’s changed.

“So what was it, you got bored with your holiday?” he asks without thinking, focusing more on being aloof and disinterested than the actual words coming out of his mouth. 

Bond hesitates for a long time before answering. “More like my holiday got bored with me,” he finally answers, chuckling self-deprecatingly. Q has always hated that chuckle.

He finally looks up at him then, really looks at him. Bond looks much the same: still as handsome, still as rugged, still as strong and rock-solid. But there’s a wistfulness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and the set of his shoulders isn’t quite so proud.

Bond clears his throat, glancing away toward the doors. “Well, Q, you’ve clearly got your hands full here. I won’t overstay my welcome,” he starts to walk away, but he’s barely made two steps before Q is reaching out and grabbing his wrist.

“Bond, I - ” He hesitates, because they don’t really do this, this sort of important, emotional talk. But the truth is, Q has been in love for three years, two months, and twenty-one days, and he doesn’t want Bond to feel alone, even if that’s all the other man ever seems to make him feel. “I truly am sorry. We all are. If anyone deserves their happily ever after, it’s you.”

 Something in Bond seems to shift at his words, and when he smiles at Q it is still wistful, and still small, but it reaches his eyes, and that is all that matters. “I missed you too, Q,” is all he says in reply, and he walks out.

“I never said I missed you!” Q calls to Bond’s retreating back, but the agent just waves his hand dismissively as he closes the doors behind him.

Oh well.

When it comes to James Bond, Q supposes, he showed his hand a long time ago.  

 

****

 

 

Q has been in love for two years, eleven months, and two days when he is kidnapped for the second time.

Once again, it is _not_ his fault.

It’s Bond’s, because of course it is.

It’s also HR’s, because this time it was one of the interns - who _they_ _hired_ \- who’d gotten him, who’d slipped something in his tea during a late shift, who’d told the others he’d get the Quartermaster into a cab and on his way home in no time, don’t you worry.

Q doesn’t get to use his mace, or his taser, and he is a little bitter about this, in all honesty.

The man calls himself Hinx, and even if Q hadn’t recognized the name from the Spectre files he’s been decrypting, he’d still be terrified: the man is a veritable giant, at least six-foot-five, and built like a damn bodybuilder.

Q actually snorts when Hinx tells him what he’s after, because even when he’s miles away, even when he’s seemingly gone for good, James Bond is still the source of all his problems. 

He thinks the Smart Blood is still active, that Q still has the files, and he wants it reactivated, so he can find Bond and “attend to some unfinished business.”

Q tells him that they’ve been deleted, he’d been under direct orders and he’s not one for rebellion; which is blatantly untrue, as the Smart Blood files may or may not be still active on the desktop in Q’s office, and may or may not be programmed to send out a very loud alert if Bond’s blood level or heart rate reach levels that would endanger his life.

He’s left alone after the first round of interrogations, and instead of torture they just...leave him be. Q has no idea he how long he sits there, hands bound by rope behind his back and ankles tied to the legs of the chair, but he does know that he’s very dehydrated, and the world is a little woozy.

None of this matters, because Q’s managed to wiggle his hands free of his bindings after what feels like ages, mostly because he’s rubbed his wrists raw and bloody, and this has, horrifyingly, made it easier to slide out of the now slippery rope. The minute he sees his hands, he wants to vomit, but despite the sheer agony his wrists are in he manages to untie his ankles and run to the door.

Q grabs the chair and the blood-stained rope, because they’re the only available ‘weapons’ in the dark basement (always a basement, why is that?), and when two henchman come in he manages to completely incapacitate one with a hard swing of chair and strangle the other with the rope. Q realizes, when the man hits the floor, that it’s his former intern who he’s choked, and he kicks the unconscious man for good measure because honestly, _fuck that guy._ He makes it up the stairs and almost to the door when, Hinx - and it has to be Hinx, because his hands are as big as Q’s head - hauls him up and throws him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing and drags him back into his makeshift prison. Q is kicking and screaming and clawing at the walls, trying to get out of this giant’s vice-like grip, but Hinx just laughs, calls him scrappy, throws him on the ground and locks him not just in the basement but in a _closet_ in the basement.

Q wonders, idly, if Bond would have been proud of him for his daring escape attempt. He decides that he can’t really be sure, but Eve sure as hell would be.

When Hinx deigns to let him out, Q nearly screams as his ragged wrists are once again tied with rope. He discovers soon after that in retrospect being stabbed in the thigh is much preferable to being electrocuted. 

Q thinks he’s been here for six days, maybe more, when Hinx puts it together. The burly man has taken to reasoning with him, as if a calm approach might better his chances of Q conceding to his demands.

Q’s response, he will later realize, is damning.

“Oh, please,” his voice is hoarse, but it does not waver, because he is the Quartermaster of MI6, damn it, and he will not be cowed. “Even if I _did_ have the Smart Blood, even if I _did_ give in to your ludicrous demands, it still wouldn’t do you any good. Bond is smart, smarter than you lot ever seem to give him credit for, and he’ll always be one step ahead. He’s better than you, and you _know_ he’s better than you, that’s why you need me, because you’ll never get the best of him without some sort of way to rig the game. Bond may be stubborn, and rash, and an arse at the best of times, but he’s loyal and competent and he’d never…” 

Q trails off when he realizes that Hinx is laughing from where he sits across from him.

“How did I not see it before? You’re in love with him. If it weren’t so pathetic it’d be kind of sweet.”

Q feels his blood run cold at the thought of being so horribly transparent, at the thought of this neanderthal reading him like a _book_ , wondering how could Hinx use this against him - when he realizes it doesn’t matter. “Even more reason for you to quit trying, then.”

Hinx just shakes his head, still chuckling as he gets up to leave, the session apparently over. “Nah. This’ll just make it more fun when you finally break.”

It is after the fifth time he is electrocuted (until his throat is raw from the screaming, until he’s shaking and twitching long after the charges are gone) that Q accepts his fate. He finds that he’s more at peace with it, this time around. Nothing on heaven nor earth could move him to betray Bond, and there’s only so long he can resist before Hinx simply gives up and shoots him.

Two hours after this epiphany he is rescued.

It’s not Bond, and Q feels like an idiot for even hoping it _would_ be, but that doesn’t lessen the relief he feels when he sees not a double-oh, but _Eve_ , lovely, gorgeous Eve, standing in the doorway, looking at him like her heart might break. She comes up to him, cradles his face and says “Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” and Q breaks apart, a little, sagging against her as she unties his wrists, crying softly into her shoulder when she takes a brief moment to wrap her arms around him. 

Medical tells him that he’ll probably have scars on his wrists from where he’d scraped himself raw against the rope for the rest of his life. Moneypenny calls them battle scars, calls him brave, calls him Jean Valjean, and laughs when Q accuses her of not knowing him at all if she thinks she can just reference musicals and expect him to understand what she’s talking about.  

Tanner hugs Q, when he sees him, and that’s actually rather sweet.

Mallory looks like he’s seriously considering doing the same, and that’s just alarming.

 

(Later, much later, Q will have rolled up his sleeves to work on a project, and Bond will stop talking mid-sentence. He will ask _who_ , and _what,_  and _how_ , and _why didn’t you say anything?,_ And Q will have no idea what to say, except that he got the scars during an escape attempt, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Eve will come down later that day to ask why 007 has just passed the two hour mark in his screaming match with M about stupidity and irresponsibility and protecting valuable assets.

 Bond will return looking slightly less livid, and Q will attempt to placate him. He will say, _you weren’t here_ , _it’s not important_ , and _it’s not like I would have given them your location anyway_ , and this is where he makes his mistake.

Bond’s face will look as if Q’s punched him in the gut, like Q has just taken his heart and stomped on it, and in the softest voice he’ll ever hear from the agent, he will ask: “This is because of me?”

Q will say no, it’s because of _me_ , because I’m simply that loyal and brave, _ha ha_ , and Bond will walk away without a word to go blow things up in R&D.

Hinx had escaped during the rescue operation, but Bond will disappear for two weeks and come back looking as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Q will try not to read too much into this.)

 

 

****

 

 

Q has been in love for three years, four months, and five days when he well and truly cocks it all up.

The thing about Bond, he will think much later, when he is alone in his flat with his cats and a bottle of wine, is that he somehow always manages to throw Q off balance, to surprise him in not altogether pleasant ways. 

When Bond comes to corner him alone in R&D at 2:15 in the morning on a Thursday, Q is unprepared. He’s spent the last few months since Bond’s return carefully rebuilding his walls, setting up barriers to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak that will come the next time Bond decides to leave him - leave _them_ , rather - for some woman. He hasn’t been avoiding Bond, per se, but R had been saying that she wanted to train some Q Branch staff in running ops, and well, surely Bond would much rather get outfitted by R before missions anyway, given how beautiful and fiery she is. Those are Bond’s two favorite traits in a woman, after all. 

He is also, admittedly, still rather cross about how Bond treated him during the whole Spectre debacle. Or rather, how he _let_ Bond treat him.

So when Bond corners him in R&D at 2:15 in the morning on a Thursday and accuses him of hiding, Q’s first instinct is to be annoyed.

“Obviously not well enough,” he snarks in response, trying to focus on the scraps of engine spread out on his table, and not on how this is the closest he’s been to Bond in a long time, on how Bond seems tired, has he been sleeping enough?

Bond ignores him, plowing on. “I almost get the feeling you’re angry with me, Q, but I can’t think of anything I’ve done in the last few months to piss you off,” He phrases it like he’s asking a question, but one to which he already knows the answer. 

“Perhaps you should think further back,” Q answers, already sick of whatever game Bond is playing. He immediately regrets it as Bond’s hand freezes where it had been fiddling with a spare wrench on the table. 

“ _That’s_ what this is about? Me leaving with Madeleine? What happened to me deserving my happy ending?” Bond sounds incredulous, like he can’t believe his Quartermaster would be so petty.

“No, that’s not it, I’d never be cross with you for trying to - ”

Bond cuts him off, crowding into his space. “So there _is_ something.”

“Of course there bloody is!” Q is too tired, too flustered by Bond’s sudden, insistent appearance to keep up pretenses. “You _used_ me!”

Bond rears back as if he’s been slapped. “ _Excuse me_?" 

The problem with bottling things up, Q finds, is that when one eventually does let go it all comes out at once, rather explosively.  

“You used me. You knew, you’ve _always_ known, and you took advantage - ”

“Took advantage of what? Your trust? Our friendship?” Q can’t tell if Bond is hurt or offended, but he doesn’t much care at the moment. He’s begun to pace angrily, not even looking at the other man. He ignores Bond’s comment.

“You were perfectly aware what I would do for you, the way I felt, and you manipulated me, like I was one of your marks! And what’s worse is, I let you! One smile and I’d have moved mountains, it didn’t matter if you were exploiting my - my - ” He cuts himself off, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. “You knew that I - that when it comes to you I’ve always - that I’m - ”  

Q looks over at Bond, and his words die in his throat. Any anger that might have been in Bond’s voice before isn’t anywhere on his face. In their place is what looks like genuine shock.  

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“You - You didn’t know,” It’s not a question. It’s all over Bond’s face. “Well, this is a nightmare.”

Q remains frozen for all of three seconds before he rushes back to his desk, grabbing his bag and throwing things into it haphazardly. It has suddenly become imperative that he get the hell out of here as quickly as humanly possible and then afterwards possibly move to Peru.

Bond grabs his hand tentatively, stilling his frantic movements. “Q, look at me,” he says it so, so softly, as if Q is a wild animal he doesn’t want to spook. Q doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him, but he does turn slightly toward the other man, to indicate that he’s listening. “What is it that I’m supposed to know?”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, staring at where their hands meet, hovering over his satchel. “That I loved you.”

He hears Bond’s sharp inhale, can tell he’s surprised from the way his grip tightens. There is a long, charged moment. Then: “Loved?”

Silence.

“Q, _loved?_ ”

And Q discovers, in that moment, that despite all he’s been through, despite all the adventures and dangers he’s faced, he’s not nearly as brave as he thought he was. So there’s really only one option left.

He bolts.

 

 

****

 

 

Q has been in love for three years, four months, and a week, and he hasn’t been back to work in two days.

He’s not actually hiding, not actually trying to avoid seeing Bond, but he’d gotten home after his ill-planned confession to only one cat greeting him at the door, and he’s since spent the two days running to different doctors and pharmacies because Peppermint has never once not run into Q’s arms at the sight of him. 

He’s bundled her into his arms now, curled on the couch, and while he still aches to see his white tabby so lethargic, the vet has assured him she’ll recover. Peanut these past few days has taken to curling along the back of the sofa, behind Q’s neck, so she can nuzzle at her sister and owner as she pleases. He’d cried a little the first time she’d done this, mostly because he hadn’t slept since he’d gotten home from his tiff with Bond and he’d been so _worried_ for his little Peppermint, who’s been with him since long before he was Q. 

Now that it’s been a few days and he’s had time to rest (though Peppermint has barely left his arms in the past 48 hours), Q has finally decided it might be time to look through his bag and actually get some work done, if alone in his apartment. So he lets Peppermint down on his lap, smiles fondly as Peanut jumps down to curl her larger frame around the other cat, and leans over to pick up his work bag and get his laptop out.

Of course, once he opens his messenger bag, he is faced with an immediate problem. Inside are various gears and tools - things that he’d thrown in there randomly when he was desperately trying to pack up and get away from Bond - but no laptop. He’d been so bloody flustered he’d forgotten his laptop, his _baby_ , at the office. He calls Eve and asks her to bring him his laptop when she gets the chance, and maybe some takeaway so they can make a meal of it. She acts like it’s a hardship for all of ten seconds before caving and telling him that work is very boring indeed when he’s not there to gossip with during breaks.

So when there’s a knock at his door a few hours later, and Peanut disappears in a blur of orange to go greet Eve, he doesn’t bother getting up, shouting that it’s unlocked. He asks if she’d thought to bring any booze, because he’s been to wrapped up in his cats and hasn’t had time to drink his troubles away, and she won’t _believe_ how stupid he’s been.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when it’s not Eve who responds.

“You know, I had every intention of coming over here and calling you a coward, but it seems that once again when it comes to you I’ve judged too quickly,” Bond says, looking at the five prescriptions Q’s had to fill for Peppermint sitting neatly next to the sink.

Q gets up very gingerly, careful not to disturb his sleeping cat as he does so, and walks over to Bond, who’s taken to leaning against the counter, looking for all the world as if it’s perfectly normal to invite yourself into your coworker’s flat. Q leans over and scoops up Peanut from where she’s been pawing at Bond’s expensive shoes and avoids meeting the other man’s eyes.

“Oh no, I’m definitely a coward. The fact that Peppermint is sick is just a coincidence.” 

Bond raises a brow at the name. “I always thought your cats would be called Nobel or Villard or something.”

“The girl at the shelter named them. They were already older, and used to the names, so I didn’t bother changing them.”

Bond hums, agreeing with his decision, and they fall into an uncomfortable silence. They stand there, and Bond’s just….staring at him, thoughtful. Q’s about to snap at him, say something horribly cliche about pictures lasting longer, when the other man speaks.

“You know, this explains a lot. Like, for instance, why Tanner keeps glaring at me when he thinks I’m not looking,” Bond says, and Q feels a sudden flood of fondness for the Chief of Staff, who has always been a bit more protective than he lets on.

Bond, of course, follows this little revelation with: “You’ve got some nerve, by the way,” and Q could slap him.

“I would think my hasty retreat would mean rather the opposite.”

It’s like a dam has been opened. “God, don’t  - you’re so - you can’t just _do_ that to a person, Q. You can’t just tell someone you love them - _loved_ them - and then just leave before they can react! Of all the selfish, stubborn - ” 

“Bond, are you _mad_ at me?” Q asks incredulously.

Bond sighs. “No. I’m not mad,” he looks away from Q, staring down at his hands. “I’m just - too late.”

At first, Q doesn’t understand what he means. Too late for what? Too late to warn Q off falling for him? Too late to turn him down without breaking his heart? Too late to -

And then Q remembers.

 _Loved you,_ he’d said.

He puts his cat down and walks over to the other man, waiting patiently until those blue eyes meet his own. And he sees it. He sees the regret in Bond’s eyes, sees the hurt. Too late, indeed. He reaches out to take a calloused, scarred hand in his own.

Maybe, just this once, Q can be the one to take that leap, to throw himself headfirst onto the moving train. He smiles at Bond, terrified and breathless and filled with a hope he’d never dared to feel.

“James Bond, if you think I don’t love you anymore, if you think I could ever _not_ love you, then you’re a bloody idiot.”

 

 

****

 

 

James Bond has been in love for two years, one month, and two days when he kisses Q for the first time, arms wrapped around the smaller man’s waist and smiling even as their lips meet.  

It is worth every second of the wait.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> and that's it! i hope you liked it. shout out to anyone who caught my little in the heights reference.
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://vesprlynd.tumblr.com), come say hi!


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